


Maestoso – Adagio – Rondo: Allegro non troppo (A timestamp for The Doors of Time)

by felisblanco



Series: The Doors of Time [12]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-22
Updated: 2014-02-22
Packaged: 2018-01-13 09:33:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1221325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/felisblanco/pseuds/felisblanco
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i> He's turning to walk away when she says, voice shaking, “He’s playing with an imaginary orchestra. Imaginary! When we are right here! Every single one of us, we would kill for a chance to play with him. For him. Why won’t he let us?“</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Maestoso – Adagio – Rondo: Allegro non troppo (A timestamp for The Doors of Time)

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place four years after [The Doors of Time](http://felisblanco.livejournal.com/1090487.html)
> 
> I was at a piano concert the other day and while I sat listening to the beautiful music, the same piece I chose for this, pretty much this whole story sprung forward, playing like a movie in my head and I knew I just had to write it down. And that’s why you get two 5th anniversary timestamps. :) Beta’d by the wonderful [](http://candygramme.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://candygramme.livejournal.com/)**candygramme**.

Jensen closes the back stage door carefully behind him before walking slowly on to the stage. She’s waiting for him. He can feel her vibrating with anticipation, or maybe it’s just him, the excitement tickling his veins and making the hairs on his arms stand up. He can’t hold back the smile, but that’s okay. There are no windows here, no sudden bright light to startle people, no people to be startled. It’s just him and her, his old friend, waiting for him to caress her and bring her to endless heights of ecstasy. He strokes her black flank with the palm of his hand, catching up on her adventures since last time. There was the concert with that girl from Wisconsin, yes. She always presses down on the pedals so hard it’s a wonder her toes don’t break. And that European boy, where is he from again, Austria? Maybe. He can’t quite remember, but he can still feel the sting of the boy’s tears on the keys, of anger and fear of failing and then relief, almost reverent gratitude.

But this isn’t their moment; it’s his. He has an hour, maybe two, before someone intrudes, before the hall is needed for people who, unlike him, don’t fear an audience.

He sits down, adjusting the bench for his height, for his long legs. Takes a moment to breathe in the air, to tap the rhythm of the piece he has in mind lightly on his thigh with his fingertips. Minna jumps up, past the keyboard and on to the top of the piano, where she almost falls into the open belly. Jensen shakes his head and laughs softly at her indignant look as she scrambles to safety and then settles down to lick her hind leg, ignoring the world at large.

Taking a deep breath Jensen closes his eyes and lets his fingers hover above the keys, waiting for their signal. In his head a violin starts playing, then another joins in, and soon the whole orchestra is pulling him along, paving a way for the main attraction, the grand entrance of the piano. There! He throws himself into it with as much gusto as he dares, always aware that he has to hold back, has to keep the magic reined in, keep one eye on the entrance, one ear listening for footsteps and doors opening or closing. It’s exhausting, but it’s so worth it. She’s worth it. She is magnificent.

He loves his old piano back home. He loves the baby grand in his classroom. But this, this _queen_ … She is like fine wine, like the softest silk and the sturdiest stallion. She gives music new life, grandiose, boisterous and still more delicate. The lightest touch is like a lover’s whisper into the ears of the audience all the way to the back row; the strongest pounding fills the concert hall with thunder and shakes the earth underneath the their feet.

If he had a piano like her at home, he thinks he would lose himself completely. Would drown in the waves of her music, would let her possess his body as well as his soul, until there was nothing left but music, music, music, around him, inside him… Instead of him. He would be the music, with all its magic and wonder and timeless eternity.

Proving his mother and his old therapist right.

He almost misses a note at the thought. As amazing as it would be, it would also be terrible. An everlasting nightmare without Jared, without Chris, without the world all around him that keeps proving itself to him as a wonderful place, filled with beautiful people, and amazing nature, and magic, and kindness and love. As much as he loves music he loves life more. He loves Jared more. He would gladly give up music for the rest of his life if that’s what it took to keep Jared here and safe, for always.

The first act of the piece comes to an end, and he sits back, catching his breath as the orchestra gets ready for the next part. He can see them, almost solid, adjusting the violins on their shoulders, turning the pages of the sheet music, flexing their fingers. From the audience come the sounds of coughing and throats being cleared, of quiet whispers and throat lozenges being popped into mouths. Jensen takes a deep breath, looks at the conductor and waits for his signal.

 

~♫~:~♫~:~♫~:~♫~:~♫~

Jared shakes the snow out of his hair as he walks through the doors and flashes Lizzie a smile. “Hey. I thought I’d surprise Jensen. Has he gone home yet?”

Lizzie smiles back and shakes her head. “He has Tully booked until 5 pm.”

Jared rolls his eyes. “Of course. I knew that was today, I just forgot.” He checks his watch. It’s a quarter to. He might as well go and wait for Jensen to finish.

Jensen tries to book Tully Hall once a month. He says he likes the open space, how it’s just him and the piano in a vacuum of vast silence. Jared is pretty sure it’s more than that. Jensen always looks exhausted when he comes home but still so happy, like playing alone in the big hall that hosts concerts of the grandest scale gives him something different from just playing at home. Jared isn’t sure what. At least at home he can let it all out, no holding back like he always has to do at work. Maybe the small room at home feels claustrophobic to him, Jared wonders. Even if rules of space and room have no meaning anymore as soon as the magic gets to work, it can’t be denied that the room is, on its own, pretty small. With the piano against one wall and the couch against another there isn’t much room left for breathing.

After four years of being in Jensen’s life, everyone on campus seems to know Jared, from the students, to the teachers, to the cleaning staff. He can move about pretty freely, as long as he respects people’s privacy and makes sure not to enter rooms and halls where a practice or concert are in session. He finds his way to Alice Tully Hall easily enough; he’s been there with Jensen a few times when his students have concerts. The doors to the hall itself are closed but not locked, and so he slips inside, smiling when he sees Jensen at the grand piano, the music filling the concert hall hitting him like a heat wave. The lavender carpet is soft and silent under his feet as he finds his way to the nearest seat and sits down.

Watching Jensen play is still to this day the most beautiful thing in the world to Jared. Even now, with no magic in sight, it’s like the music grants him celestial appearance. The soft spotlight shines down on him from the high ceiling; the wooden backdrop shines golden like sunrise. Even from the furthest back row Jared can feel Jensen’s serenity, how trustingly he gives himself over to the music, to the piano and the great empty hall. Jared feels a sting of guilt for being here without Jensen’s knowledge, listening in on something that feels so private, so privileged.

The music stops, and for a moment Jared thinks Jensen has spotted him. but Jensen doesn’t even glance his way. His eyes are roaming the stage, his body still swaying with the music that has long stopped. He nods, smiling, feet tapping the floor, hands resting on his thighs. It takes Jared a moment but then he realizes with a bang what Jensen is doing.

It slams into his chest like a fist, sadness and a regret so deep he’d never even realized he felt. For Jensen’s lost chances, his dreams that will never come true, can never come true. Dreams of belonging, of being a part of something bigger than just his own music, his own magic. Of playing with a whole orchestra in front of an audience. To be in that spotlight, to just once face the world without fear of it fearing him, _hating_ him for being something they can’t understand.

Jensen throws himself into the music again with renewed energy. Jared thinks he recognizes the piece. Probably. He’s never been as good as Jensen who can recognize pretty much any piece of music he’s ever heard or read just from a few beats. As Jensen loses himself in the music once again, Jared sits back and takes in his surroundings. It’s a beautiful concert hall, plain but still magnificent, the seats comfortable with plenty of room, even for his long legs. His gaze drifts up the walls to the balconies where… there are people.

Jared blinks a few times, thinking maybe Jensen’s magic slipped a bit, but, no, these are real people, at least five, maybe six. Listening. Watching. And Jensen has no idea.

Fuming with anger, Jared gets carefully up from his seat and slips out the door, finding the stairs that lead up to the balconies. The light from the hallway that slips in with him as he opens the door alerts the unwelcome audience to his arrival. Not five, not six but thirty, forty students stare at him, wide-eyed and guilty. Jared beckons the closest one to follow him out into the hall, which the girl does, head bowed and cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he hisses as soon as the door closes behind them, too angry to keep his mouth in check.

“We-we just want to listen,” the girl stammers. “He never lets us listen, and it’s so, so beautiful.”

“This is private! He is not playing for you. He is playing for himself. This is his private moment!” Jared hates that he’s causing tears to spring to her eyes, but he hates even more the breach of trust, the disrespect they’re showing someone who has never been anything but good to them. “I want you out of here! All of you. And if I ever catch you at it again, I will tell him.”

He's turning to walk away when she says, voice shaking, “He’s playing with an imaginary orchestra. _Imaginary!_ When we are _right here_! Every single one of us, we would _kill_ for a chance to play with him. _For_ him. Why won’t he let us?“

Jared stops. The anger drains away, leaving him with his earlier sorrow and regret. He turns around again, facing her. “He can’t,“ he says tiredly. “He has…” He stops, having no idea what to say. How to explain the fear Jensen has of revealing himself, of being rejected by the only community he’s ever felt he belonged to. “He has issues.”

She rolls her eyes. “We know. We don’t care about that. We just want to play. And, I mean, _he_ clearly wants us to, why else would he be imagining us there?”

Jared opens his mouth to argue but stops when he can’t find the words. She is right. Jensen does want it. And they want to play with him. But Jared also knows Jensen will never agree to it. Even with how good he’s become at repressing his magic, at channeling it into the music and only the music, the fear that he’ll slip won’t allow him to.

“Did you see him?” she pushes on. “He’s not just making the music up in his head, he’s imagining the whole orchestra. Nodding and smiling to its members, exactly where we would be placed if we were playing. Like he can actually see us.”

“He can,” Jared says quietly. “He sees things like that all the time.” Too late he realizes what he’s said, but she only nods along, not seeming surprised in the least.

“We know he’s special,” she says. “We know he sees things differently. That’s why we love him.” She sighs. “I just really think if he’d let us play with him he would be so happy, you know? We just want to make him happy. Because he looks happy now, but after, when it’s over, he always looks a bit sad. And I think it’s because then he’s all alone again.”

That stings. “He’ll never agree to it,” Jared tells her. “I’ve talked about it with him before. He’s been invited to play at concerts but…”

“But this is different,” she insists. “There won’t be an audience. Just us. If anything happens, if he has one of his episodes or whatever, it’s okay. We won’t mind. We’re used to it.”

Jared can’t tell her it’s not that. Jensen zoning out isn’t the problem. Jensen getting lost in the music, forgetting where he is, what he’s _not_ allowed to do, is.

But then again this is obviously not the first time they’ve listened in. And judging by her honest, guileless gaze, Jensen hasn’t slipped yet.

“Let me think about it,” he says. “If there’s a way…”

She lights up, all smiles. “We’ve already figured out a way,” she says eager, eyes sparkling with excitement. “Seriously, I’m like eighty-five percent sure it will work.”

~♫~:~♫~:~♫~:~♫~:~♫~

Jared is acting strange. There is no other word for it. Sure, he’s as loving and funny and amazing as always but still, he’s just… strange. Distracted, secretive, even evasive. He’s been late home all week, sometimes not back until two hours or more after Jensen steps into the empty apartment that somehow feels too cold and silent when Jared’s not there. When Jensen brings it up Jared makes up some excuse about work that smells wrong, wrong, wrong. But Jensen hasn’t asked, hasn’t pried because he runs Jared’s life enough as it is. Jared’s allowed some time to himself, just like Jensen. It’s just that… this time it’s been over two hours and Jared isn’t answering his phone.

“You think he’s cheating on you? I will rip his fucking throat out!”

Jensen can’t help rolling his eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous. Besides, cheating smells different.” He wrinkles his nose at the thought, at the acid taste on his tongue. He’s smelled it on Chad, more than once, although not since Sophia got pregnant. Hopefully he’s pulled his act together.

Chris huffs. Jensen can hear him slamming the cupboards in his kitchen then the sound of a glass hitting the table. “Well, if it’s not that, then what?” Chris says as he pours himself a drink, whiskey from the golden velvet sound. It’s such a familiar sound from years of dark nights when it was just the two of them, and Jensen suddenly misses Chris so much, even if he lives only a couple of blocks away, and he was over for dinner five days ago. It’s different, it’s completely different.

Jensen clears his throat and tries to shake it off. Chris has his own life now. He can’t be running over every time Jensen feels a little lonely. Even if Jensen knows Chris would, no questions asked. “I don’t know. He hasn’t said anything to you?“

“Like I would keep his secrets from you,” Chris scoffs. “I’m not stupid. And he knows I’d always take your side.”

Jensen nods. “You would.” He moves over to the bedroom window and looks outside. It’s snowing again, the air so white with thick snowflakes he can’t even see the street below. The world feels too quiet, the apartment too small. A dark box in a vast white world. He sucks in his breath. “Chris, I have to go play.”

“What? Hey, no. No. Talk to me. I was just kidding about the cheating. He would never do that, he loves you too damn much.”

Jensen closes his eyes, and the air feels a little lighter. “I know, I just... I have to go.”

“I’ll come over,” Chris says hurriedly. “Play if you need to but don’t, you know, go anywhere.”

“You don’t have to,” Jensen objects weakly but, Chris knows him too damn well to buy it.

“I’m coming over,” he repeats. “And Jensen? Happy music, remember?”

Jensen nods, but he isn’t really listening. When he touches the window his fingers leave frozen ice petals on the glass.

~♫~:~♫~:~♫~:~♫~:~♫~

The apartment is dark and quiet. And oddly cold. Jared frowns as he turns on the lights and hangs up his coat. “Jensen?” There’s no answer. Worried, he puts away his shoes and goes searching. He didn’t mean to stay so late, time just seemed to fly. Maybe it’s true what Jensen says, that time moves differently at Juilliard. Well, at least he’s given that excuse often enough that Jared should be able to use it. Except then he would have to admit he’s been at the school, and Jensen isn’t actually supposed to know that. Not yet.

The kitchen is empty, as well as the living room. As he moves further in to the apartment he swears the air grows colder. He tries the piano room first, since it’s really too early for bed. There’s no one there. The piano stands silent and seems oddly small in the empty room now that he’s been around the grand piano so much. Puzzled he checks the bedroom, but, as he thought, the bed is empty. In fact it’s stripped bare. The bathroom is empty as well. Which leaves only the guest room although why Jensen would be there Jared can’t imagine. He opens the door and ice-cold wind hits him straight in the face. Jesus!

Chris’s old bed stands in the middle of the icy room, piled with blankets and the duvets from their bedroom. Jared sees a tuft of hair on a pillow and beside it another head with slick long hair. “Chris? Hey, wake up! What the hell is going on?”

The mountain of bedding moves slightly and then a corner of a duvet is pulled away to reveal Chris’s red face, his skin damp from breathing under the covers. “That’s what I’d like to know!” he hisses and gently extracts himself from Jensen, who has clearly trapped him with his octopus arms and legs underneath the covers. Jensen can get really clingy in his sleep.

Jared waits as Chris pulls on a sweater and thick socks, muttering curses under his breath, then follows him out of the room and into the hall, closing the door softly behind them before turning to face him. “What happened?”

Chris shakes his head. “Kitchen. I need coffee. Fuck, I’m freezing.”

He stomps towards the kitchen, and all Jared can do is follow. Once they’re seated Chris gives Jared a hard look.

“I ran over, because he started zoning out on me while we were on the phone. Last thing I told him, play happy music! But no, he’s playing Vivaldi’s frigging _Winter_! I dragged him into the only room that was closed off, except of course the cold followed him. I thought I was gonna freeze to death.”

Jared frowns. “He couldn’t snap out of it?”

Chris throws up his hands in frustration. “It’s fucking Vivaldi, man! This is why he’s not supposed to play fucking Vivaldi!”

“I know. I just don’t get why. What set him off?”

Chris glares at him. “You tell me. You’re the one messing with his head. Where the hell do you keep disappearing to after work? If I find out you’ve been cheating on him, I will kill you. I like you, man. Hell, I love you like a brother, but I’m not joking. I will end you.”

“Okay, whoa,” Jared says, shocked. “Slow down. You think I’m _cheating_ on him?” He sits up straight, suddenly feeling sick. “Wait, _Jensen_ thinks I’m cheating him?”

But Chris waves that away. “Fuck no, of course not! You could never do anything wrong, you’re his amazing angel in disguise, whatever. I don’t know what he thinks but not that. This is me asking. And you still haven’t answered.”

“I’m not cheating on him!” Jared exclaims, angry. “Jesus! I would _never_ do that. Who the hell would cheat on Jensen?”

Chris breathes out. “Okay. Good we got that out of the way. So what _have_ you been doing? From what he tells me, you’ve been behaving like a right shit, sneaking around behind his back, having secrets.”

“Oh hell.” Jared rubs a hand over his face. “He noticed?”

Chris snorts. “You’re not exactly mister inconspicuous, kid. You two can hardly stay away from each other for two seconds, and yet suddenly you’re spending all your free time somewhere else. So what the fuck have you been doing?”

Jared bites his lip. He wasn’t really going to tell Chris, because he knows he’s almost as paranoid as Jensen about keeping his secret. “Okay, so here’s the deal,” he finally says. “We’re planning a… surprise. Kind of. Well, not so much me as the kids at Juilliard. I’m just helping them out a bit.”

Chris frowns. “Surprise? What kind of surprise? Jensen hates surprises. You scare him, even just as a joke, he will send shit flying at you, sometimes heavy, painful shit. Not a good idea. Not that I’ve done that,” he adds quickly when Jared gives him a look. “Just an observation. You know.”

Jared snorts. “Sure. Whatever you say. No, it’s not that kind of surprise. It’s… It’s a concert.”

“Oh.” Chris sits back, clearly thrown. “Huh. That’s… wow. They want to stage a concert? Just for, for him?” His voice wavers and he clears his throat, clearly embarrassed. “Yeah. That’d be cool. He’ll, he’ll love that.”

“Not _for_ him,” Jared says. “ _With_ him.”

Chris stares at him like he’s crazy. “ _With_ him? Have you lost your fucking mind? No. He will never agree to that. You know that. What the fuck are you thinking? Do a concert, he’ll love that, but don’t drag him into it. He will freak the fuck out.”

Jared sighs. “Have you ever gone and watched him play at Tully Hall?” he asks.

Chris’s face closes off. “Once. He lost track of time, didn’t come home, and I went to get him.”

“And?” Jared pushes.

“And it fucking broke my heart, okay? I slipped out and waited until there was an interval, and then I knocked and made as much noise as I could before going back in. And I’ll never forget how fucking happy he looked when he was… you know. And how damn resigned he looked when I walked in the second time.”

“So then you get where I’m coming from,” Jared says.

“Coming from, yeah. Going? No. Yes, he wants to play a proper concert, with a real grand orchestra. But he can’t. He knows he can’t, we know he can’t. No way in hell he can control himself in that kind of situation. So what the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“They really want to do it. And before you bite my head off, I didn’t ask them. They’ve been planning it for months. All they needed was someone to tell them it was okay.”

“And you did? Jesus, Jared, he will _never_ agree to it! Never. He is terrified that they’ll figure out what he is. Hell, he’s even more terrified he’ll freak someone out, hurt someone. He hasn’t played in public since he was in school, not really. Not a whole piece, let alone a whole concert piece. With a whole fucking orchestra.”

Jared smiles awkwardly. “Yeah, so that’s another thing. These kids, they’ve kinda been sneaking in to listen to him play at Tully.”

Chris visibly pales. “ _What?_ ”

“No, no. It’s okay,” Jared hurries to add. “See, they’ve been there, they’ve been listening and watching for months, and he has _never_ slipped up. Not once. I mean, sure, he makes their feelings fly all over the place, but there is nothing visible. Nothing that gives him away. He’s that damn good.”

But Chris just shakes his head. “We’ve been damn lucky then. One day he will go too deep, he will slip up. And then what? You have to tell them to leave him alone!”

“They will. They promised. After the concert.”

“Jesus! Listen to yourself. He can’t do it. You know it’s a lot harder for him to concentrate when there are people listening. When he _knows_ there are people listening.”

Jared smiles. “That’s where the plan comes in.”

~♫~:~♫~:~♫~:~♫~:~♫~

Chris doesn’t stay over. He says his room is still too cold, that he’ll freeze his fucking balls off, and Jensen is too embarrassed about the whole thing to ask him to just stay anyway, in their bed.

He’d been shaken awake by Jared, who’d looked worried but smelled guilty, like wet dog and newspapers. He’d crawled under the mountain of duvets and blankets and wrapped his arms around Jensen and whispered “You okay?” and “Sorry, I lost track of time,” but he didn’t say why, and he didn’t ask why Jensen had been playing music he’s not supposed to when he’s alone. And Jensen had felt so stupid and unreasonable, because he can’t even count the times Jared has had to go look for him at the park or at work or just sitting in the New York subway, lost in his head as the train slinks its way through the city. But that’s different, the worried voice in his head says, that’s _him_. This is Jared, _he_ doesn’t do that. He doesn’t stay away for hours, just because he has no concept of time.

They order pizza and eat it huddled up on the couch, wrapped up in blankets, because the apartment is still a bit chilly, and Jensen can’t seem able to raise the heat to normal, no matter how he tries. He apologizes, again and again, when Jared shivers or rubs his toes or wraps the blanket even tighter around himself. And Jared says it’s okay, he doesn’t mind, but he still doesn’t ask why, and that’s much worse.

“I think it was the snow,” Jensen finally says, eyes set on the TV, where some cops are doing an incredibly lousy job of solving a murder. He feels Jared shift beside him and then there are fingers crawling under his blanket, fumbling for and finding his hand and squeezing it tight and reassuringly. “Everything was so white and quiet, and there was just me here, and nothing, nothing else. I was talking to Chris on the phone, but still I just… it felt like I was the last human being on Earth.”

“I’m sorry,” Jared says one more time. “I should have called.”

“It’s okay,” Jensen says again, because it should be, even if it isn’t. “Sorry about Vivaldi. I didn’t even realize that’s what I was playing, until Chris started yelling at me.”

Jared chuckles. “He really hates _The Four Seasons_.” He slips an arm around Jensen and pulls him closer, rearranging the blankets so they’re sharing instead of being separated. “Good thing about being cold?” he says and presses a cool nose into Jensen’s neck. “It gives me a very good excuse for warming you up.”

A few kisses later the room feels like a furnace.

~♫~:~♫~:~♫~:~♫~:~♫~

“God, I’m so nervous!” Elaine gasps. She does look pale and sweaty, but no more than the rest of them, so Jared isn’t too worried. “What if he picks something we don’t know?”

“Does that happen often?” Jared asks alarmed. Honestly he hadn’t thought of that possibility.

She shakes her head, plucking nervously at her violin. “No. Once maybe.”

“Then chances are you will know it. Relax.” He almost adds, “He can smell fear,” but stops himself at the last moment. “It will be fine,” he says instead and sends a quick prayer to whoever is listening that it will be. He’s taking a huge risk, as Chris keeps hissing at him, and if it backfires… He can’t even think about what that will mean.

On the other hand, if it works…

“Sshh, he’s coming!” Marcus, who had been assigned the role of look out, whispers loudly as he runs into the room and closes the door carefully behind him. Everyone falls so silent, Jared thinks they could hear a feather touch the floor. The tension in the room is palpable, but hopefully the walls will keep it contained, so Jensen doesn’t feel it. Jared takes out his phone, checks one more time that it’s on silent, then waits. After a few minutes the messages start coming in:

**OK hes in  
** Sitting down  
This is such a fucking bad idea  
Hes still just sitting there  
Guess theres an intro  
Ok here goes 

**♬ Just found Concerto No. 1 in D minor for Piano and Orchestra, Op. 15: I. Maestoso by Rudolf Serkin;George Szell;The Cleveland Orchestra on #SoundHound for Android.  
<http://www.soundhound.com/?t=100880571844987571>**

Yes! Jared stands up on a chair to gets everyone’s attention. “Okay. We hit the jackpot. Brahms Piano Concert, number one in D minor, opus 15. Everyone got their sheet music?”

There’s a flurry of noise as they flip through their folders then nod their heads.

“Good.”

The phone buzzes as Chris calls, just as planned, and Jared puts it on speaker, so everyone can hear Jensen playing in the background.

 

[Johannes Brahms: Piano concerto no. 1 in D minor, opus 15](http://www.sendspace.com/file/ujjocx)

“Figure out the right order. You have... How long do you think?”

Elaine calculates in her head. “Four minutes, maybe three and a half.”

“Okay, you heard her,” Jared says. “Three minutes.”

It’s magical watching each and every one slide into place, like notes on the staff, the music probably already playing in their heads. It’s one of five they’ve been practicing over the last few weeks, a selection based on the music Jensen has been playing the most at home, both on the piano and from his vast collection of classical CDs. Still, they've lucked out. He could just as well have picked something completely different, throwing their whole plan out the window. Plus this composition is easier than most of them, in regards to the orchestra. It’s mostly the big instrument that might prove a problem, but with cooperation it just might work.

Fuck, he hopes it works.

~♫~:~♫~:~♫~:~♫~:~♫~

Jensen closes his eyes, the music of the solo part swelling in him, all around him, his fingers caressing the keys, so light, so sweet it’s hardly audible, then louder and…

There. The violins join in, a little hurried but they soon find their stride. Clarinets then a bassoon, both a little shaky but still good. Jensen smiles. It sounds more real this way. The orchestra in his head has a tendency to be too good, too perfect, the idea of music, rather than actual music. But this, this sounds _amazing_.

He opens his eyes and gives the two clarinetists and the bassoonist a little nod. They nod back, smiling, looking flushed and not quite as composed as usual, but then again that fits with this rendition of the piece. He closes his eyes again, his heart expanding at every instrument that joins in, some a little late, a little early, a little not-quite-perfect, but they all find their place eventually, and it’s _magnificent_. He can’t remember it ever sounding like this. Usually he feels very much alone, too aware that, despite being surrounded by a whole orchestra, his is the only heart beating.

The “Maestoso” finishes, and he sits back, hands folding in his lap, listening to the audience and members of the orchestra cough and shift in their seat. He breathes deeply and opens his eyes, looking around at the people surrounding him. All familiar faces, although he doesn’t remember more than a couple of names. It’s a bit of a surprise. Even if he sometimes casts specific students that he has had a particular longing to play with into specific roles, he’s never had the energy to picture so many. The “Adagio” is next, and he smiles and nods encouragingly to the violinists and cellists as they get ready. He has a couple of minutes before his next intro, so he allows himself to relax and enjoy their performance, body swaying and head nodding along, before sitting up straight, and joining in.

It’s like giving in to an all-surrounding, warm embrace of instruments old and new, their music holding him up, carrying him through air. He finally understands Brahms, believing the piano and the orchestra should be equal, should play off each other and go together on one great adventure, not the orchestra following the piano, like its entourage, its servants. It’s so much greater this way, he feels small and still so big, like a single leaf on the biggest tree swaying in the breeze, a drop of water in the vast ocean, moving with the current. He’s vibrating, the magic bursting to get out and play, to turn the music into images, into worlds and creatures and magnificent displays of beauty. Sweat is pouring from his brow and streaming down his back with the effort of keeping it all in, because even if it’s just him he knows there’s always a chance someone will come in and surprise him. He feels so wonderfully alive he wants to laugh, and sing and cry. God, he wishes Jared was here. That Jared could experience this with him. Even if it’s all in his head Jensen knows all Jared would have to do is touch him, and he would see it, he would feel it, just as if he was in here with him.

The concerto is drawing to a close. He doesn’t want it to stop, wants to live in this moment forever, but at the same time he is so tired, so emotionally drained he just wants to lay down and cry for a little while. There comes the last violin part, the last cellos, his last great piano fanfare, and then the brass leads in to the strings' almost violent farewell with all the orchestra joining and then…

It’s over.

Jensen sits in the silence with his eyes squeezed shut, head hanging between his shoulders, hands gripping the sides of the piano so hard his knuckles hurt. Through the thunderous heartbeat pounding in his ears he hears someone start to hesitantly applaud. Another joins in and then more. Several more. A whole orchestra.

Jensen blinks his eyes open and raises his head. The conductor is looking straight at him, smiling. He takes a small bow then sweeps his arm over the orchestra, and, like a wave, they all stand up, giving Jensen a collective bow, still clapping like crazy. What? Jensen’s whole body starts to shake. He stands up and warily reaches out his hand. The conductor takes it, and it’s a solid handshake, made of flesh, and bones and blood rushing through the veins. Jensen’s knees buckle, and he sits back down with a bang, looking around at all the familiar faces, everyone grinning so widely and still looking so nervous. The air smells of sweat and nerves, and joy so overwhelming Jensen can feel its glow in his spine, and stomach and the deepest chambers of his heart.

“What is happening?” he says, his voice shaking. There’s a noise from the audience section, and he looks over, alarmed, thinking, Oh God, are they real, too? Have they always been real? Am I losing my mind? He sags in relief when he sees Jared and Chris hurrying down the aisle. They’re on the stage in seconds, both with the same grin and still the same nervous fear as the orchestra members.

“It’s okay,” Jared says, placing his hand on Jensen’s shoulder and squeezing it tight. His voice is soothing even if there are tears in his eyes, and he’s swallowing repeatedly. “Jensen, it’s okay. We just wanted to surprise you.”

Jensen turns to glance at Chris who looks like he’s been holding his breath for days, eyes wide and face flushed. And, maybe, because he’s been tuned in to Jensen’s way of thinking so long, he says: “Just this once. They wanted to do this for you, just this once.”

Jensen stares at them, then looks over the orchestra and now the nervous looks make sense. “I … I didn’t know,” he says, voice cracking a little. “Did I…?” he whispers low enough that only Jared can hear. “Was I okay?”

“You were perfect,” Jared says warmly, his voice just as low. “You never slipped, not even once.”

Jensen swallows and looks around again then stands slowly up and blinks the tears out of his eyes. “I don’t know how… but thank you. So much. That was… I have never… It was… perfect. You were perfect. Absolutely amazing. Thank you. Thank you so much. I can’t tell you… Thank you.” They all break out in wide grins and lift their instruments in salute. Jensen hitches his breath, swaying a little. “Jared?”

There’s a warm hand instantly on his back, and Jensen presses against it, reclaiming his anchor. “Sorry,” he says, smiling shakily, “you’ve made me a bit emotional. More than usual.” They laugh, and his heart swells. God, he loves them so much. “I never expected... You are… I have never in my life felt as proud and as humble as I do right now.” He looks into the eyes of each and every one, smiling gratefully, then steps back and gives them a deep bow. They break out in applause again, and this time he has to sit down to keep from keeling over.

They give him hugs, each and every one waiting their turn impatiently, excited like children at Christmas. As the last one reluctantly lets him go and leaves the stage, he’s shaking so hard with emotions he can feel the floor trembling under his feet.

“Jared,” he whispers, and strong arms envelop him, keeping him reined in if only for a little while longer.

“What do you need?”

“Lock the doors. Just lock the doors and keep everyone out. I’m…” His fingers start glowing, and he curls them into fists, squeezing his eyes shut. Oh God. “Main entrance, back entrance, side wings.”

“They’re all locked,” Jared’s voice says, far away. “We made sure everything was secure before you started. Chris will close the back entrance as soon as they’re gone. Hold on, just a little longer.”

Jensen buries his face in Jared’s neck and lets him rock him side to side as a child. He doesn’t mind, he’s swaying anyway, with the music, and the joy, and the love that burns white like fire inside him. He can feel his veins glowing, bursting through his skin like cracks in a wall. If he has to hold it in much longer…

“Did I screw up?” Jared whispers. “Are you mad?”

Jensen shakes his head. “No. No. That’s not… Thank you. It was the greatest gift I… Thank you. I’m just… too much.”

Jared squeezes him harder. There’s a noise, feet running, a short, quick gait that Jensen would recognize anywhere, and then Chris’s out of breath, “It’s okay. You can let go now.”

Jensen only just manages to gasp, “Close your eyes!” and then everything goes bright white.

~♫~:~♫~:~♫~:~♫~:~♫~

“That was risky.”

Jared shrugs. “Some things are worth the risk,” he says, his cheeks a little pink. He’s sitting up in bed, pretending to read, but he hasn’t turned a page since Jensen came out of the bathroom and slipped under the covers.

Jensen smiles and curls up beside him, resting his head on Jared’s chest, right over his heart. Boomboom, boomboom. He closes his eyes and relives once again the moment he realized what was going on. The second when the already amazing concert revealed itself and took on a whole new level of wonder. His first and only ever concert, and it was more amazing than any concert any soloist could have dreamed of, because… because they did it for him. They went through all that trouble, just for him. He should be mad at them for going behind his back, for listening in when he didn’t know, for intruding on something that was just for him. But he’s too awed and amazed to feel anything but gratitude. Still…

“They’re going to leave you alone from now on,” Jared says, as if he’s heard his thoughts. Maybe he did. Maybe Jensen said it out loud. He sometimes does without realizing. “They promised. No more eavesdropping.”

Jensen nods. That’s good. Because it _is_ risky. It’s a miracle he never gave himself away when they were listening. He knows he has sometimes. Nothing much, just a few flowers, maybe a rainbow, and yeah, okay, once he looked up and there were fairies dancing in a clearing, the forest growing all around them out of the benches, like a ridiculously tall and multi-limbed audience. So no more eavesdropping, that’s good. Just him, alone again with his music and the vast silence. That’s… good.

“Unless you want them to.”

Jensen blinks his eyes open. He looks up at Jared who is gazing down at him with a fond smile, the book closed and discarded on the bedside table.

“To listen?” he asks doubtful.

Jared nods then adds, nonchalantly, “Or play.”

Jensen stares at him. “You know I can’t.”

Jared smiles. “I think if we’ve proved anything today, it is that you can.”

“Jared…” Jensen says wary but Jared shakes his head and scoots down, so they’re facing each other, eye to eye.

“No, listen to me. Today… it was out of this world. Listening to you, watching you on that stage, surrounded by people who love you and respect you, doing the thing you’ve always wanted but never dared to before… I cried my eyes out.”

Jensen can’t help smiling. “You cried?”

“Shut up. You should have seen Chris. He was bawling like a baby. Of course he’ll never admit it. I would have taken a picture, except I was busy doing other stuff.”

“Like crying,” Jensen teases.

“Like watching your dream come true,” Jared says softly. “And I want to see it again. And again. This time with you knowing from the start. I want to see you enjoying the whole experience, start to finish.”

Jensen swallows. “Jared, you know it’s too risky.”

“You taught yourself to hold back years ago, this is just taking it up a notch.”

“It’s a pretty big notch,” Jensen points out, but there’s a feeling in his stomach, the warm white feeling from earlier.

“Is it? They don’t add magic, only you do. There could be a whole symphony orchestra playing, and it would still just be music. You don’t have to control them, you only have to control yourself, your feelings. And you already know how to do that.”

Jensen looks away. “Yeah, but… it’s so fucking hard, Jared. I don’t think you realize how damn hard it is. And that’s just me. With them there’s just… too much. They make me feel too much. I don’t know if I can hold that all back.”

Jared sighs and ducks his head to kiss Jensen on the lips. “I think you can. But it’s your choice. Just think about it. Because no matter how hard it is I think it would be worth it. For both you and them.”

Jensen thinks back on how excited, and proud and happy they had all looked. Like it was as much a dream come true for them as it was for him. And he can’t help feeling a little guilty for all the times they’ve asked him if he would play for them, at school concerts, at simple gatherings, at a memorial for a teacher he respected and grieved and the wedding of a girl that had managed to find happiness despite all the bad in her life he knew she’d never told anyone about. He’d always said no, and they’d never pushed, never persisted, just smiled a little sadly and said it was okay, they understood, even if they didn’t, couldn’t.

“These aren’t strangers, Jensen,” Jared says gently. “They know you. They know what you’re like. If you feel yourself going off track, you already have a way of dealing with it that they are familiar with.”

Jensen grimaces. He hates when he has to shut down. Even if it’s under the pretense of narcolepsy.

“It’s only a safety precaution. I doubt you’d ever have to use it.” Jared nudges him with his nose. “I have faith in you.”

Jensen laughs. “Okay, I’ll think about it. Later.”

“Okay.” Jared strokes a thumb over his cheekbone, smiling softly. “Tired?”

“Actually,” Jensen says and runs a hand down Jared’s side, until it’s resting on his hip, thumb stroking the hipbone in tandem with Jared’s movements, “I have all this energy buzzing in me that I really need to work off.”

Jared grins. “Is that so?” he says as his fingers slip to the back of Jensen’s neck and pull him forward. The kiss starts out slow, just lips on lips, soft and warm, fitting together the way they always do. But then Jared makes this small noise when Jensen slips his tongue into his mouth, like it still surprises him after all these years, and just like that Jensen is lost. He kisses Jared hard, pushes his tongue in deep and desperately. Jared growls. The long fingers on his right hand are cupping the back of Jensen’s head, but his left moves swiftly south, sliding down Jensen’s back, finally coming to a rest on the curve of Jensen’s ass. Jensen breathes harshly into Jared’s mouth, his hips jerking, wavering between pushing back into Jared’s hand and moving closer to Jared’s body. Jared makes the decision for him, rolling over and pressing down on him, solid and heavy. Jared is already hard, cock long and thick where it’s trapped between them, and Jensen whimpers.

“Okay, okay,” Jared pants. “You sure?”

Jensen can only nod, the want and need too strong in him for words. Jared kisses him hard before rolling up on his knees, smooth like liquid. Jensen throws an arm over his eyes, breathing harshly and listening for the slide of the drawer, the snick of the tube flipped open. His heart is beating hard. Sometimes they kiss for hours, sometimes they just touch, and taste and take their time exploring every single inch of their bodies. Sometimes it ends with them locked together, moving like dancers until they fall asleep, too exhausted to pull apart. But sometimes what they want is this, no waiting, no teasing, no slow build up, just this.

Jared’s fingers inside him, sliding deep and determined, opening him up and slicking the way, while Jensen breathes in the scent of Jared, the warmth of his skin. Then a shift of the hips, Jared’s eyes gazing into his as he pushes inside, sometimes slow, sometimes faster than he means to, sometimes even faster and harder than that, because that’s what they want or need or both. Jensen arching up to meet him, hands fisting the sheet underneath them. Muscles rippling Jared’s torso, his arms, his shoulders as he moves. Sweat pooling in the cave of Jensen’s bellybutton. Their breathing harsh but quiet - except when it’s not - when Jensen can’t help making small noises that have Jared groaning and whispering “Yeah, come on,” and then later, louder, “Oh God, Jensen!” as Jensen urges him on, begging, “Now, now, I want to see you,” and the bed moans, and creaks, and the walls glow red and orange, and Jared pants, “I love you, I love you,” until Jensen gasps for breath, his eyes widening, glowing bright green. And just for a moment time seems to stand still, before it rushes forward like a dam breaking, and the bed lands on the floor with a crash that has Jensen groaning and Jared laughing with the little breath he has left.

The next morning the citizens of New York wake up feeling happy and relaxed, with a vague memory of a dream that has them blushing until lunchtime.

fin


End file.
